


Til the Fire Fades

by TheFandomLesbian



Series: Spencer's Raulson One-Shots [41]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Nightmares, foxxay - Freeform, pre-Seven Wonders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFandomLesbian/pseuds/TheFandomLesbian
Summary: Since the acid attack, Cordelia has fought sleeplessness. She finds she isn't the only one.
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Series: Spencer's Raulson One-Shots [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1214643
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	Til the Fire Fades

**Author's Note:**

> For a dialogue prompt: "I've got you." Featuring blind!Cordelia.

“I believe what you say

In the drama of the moment

Oh no there is no easy way, no one ever leaves

Everyone stays close 'till the fire fades.” -Fleetwood Mac, “Fireflies”

Creeping down the stairs with her cane swinging out before her, Cordelia struggled to place her feet on the steps in a way that didn’t disturb them and send the whole house to creaking and waking the coven. She couldn’t sleep… Her inability to tell days from nights was interfering with her sleep schedule. And the dreams weren’t very much fun, either. She had never dreamt much, before--or, if she had, she had never recalled them--but now she awoke from every nap with her eyes burning, an agonizing burning. Even if she couldn’t remember the dream, she could suss out the meaning without too much trouble. 

Her face burned now, too, and she fumbled into the kitchen, reaching into the freezer for an ice pack. She wrapped it up in a paper towel and held it up against her eyes. Sweat curled up against her hairline.  _ I need to get some air. _ She hadn’t done anything outside since she had come home… since Hank had left. Her skin crawled at the mere thought of him, his infidelity, every betrayal she had unknowingly endured. She had so many questions, but she wouldn’t dare reach out to him to ask. She didn’t  _ want _ to know the answers. It didn’t  _ matter _ , none of it, except that she definitely needed to get to the doctor and be tested for every sexually transmitted disease under the sun. She would get tested, she would finalize her divorce, and then she would move on. 

Move on to what? There was nothing left for her, she feared. She had already been a fairly incompetent witch before the acid attack. Now, she was blind, helpless, and trapped with  _ Fiona. _ As a teenager, this would have made her suicidal, but by now, Cordelia had grown quite accustomed to living a life of misery. Besides, the coven needed  _ somebody _ to tell them when they had lost their goddamn minds, and Fiona certainly wasn’t going to be that person. Somebody had to try to make sure the girls stuck it out and did what they were meant to do.  _ I’m not that person, either, though.  _ Madison had been raped--then she had gone missing. What had Cordelia done? Stood back and let it happen. Who on earth was she that  _ Nan _ had called the counsel to report another student missing before the headmistress even noticed her absence? 

_ Well, somebody has to try to protect them from Fiona.  _ Cordelia would try her best and then fail miserably, as she had always done before. She  _ knew _ Fiona was a danger now. That was the one asset of her newfound blindness… Fiona had killed Madison. Cordelia licked her lips as she fumbled around in the kitchen for a glass and filled it with cold water. Her mind wouldn’t slow down. What could she do now? She was fucking helpless. The house was too hot and stuffy. “I need some air,” she said aloud this time, stifled by the aura of the house. Everything in this building told her about her inadequacies--how she had been a poor student, an incompetent witch, a careless teacher, and now a helpless blind divorcee stumbling around the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning unable to get some rest. 

The front door was unlocked, she noted as she headed to it and stood on the porch for a few moments, drinking clumsily out of her glass of water. It spilled up over her face. The night was sticky but cool with a breeze teasing the trees. Using her cane, she headed down the steps off the concrete porch.  _ I need the greenhouse.  _ The greenhouse was where she had always felt the most powerful. She could brew remedies there, her potions, and give them to her girls when they were ill. That made her feel helpful. It was one of the few things she could do successfully. She missed the company of the plants and the feeling of being just a witch, not a headmistress or a teacher or a student--just a witch, one with no responsibilities but her own brewing. 

The breeze rattled the door to the greenhouse, which stood slightly ajar. “Odd,” she said aloud. She pushed her way inside. The door moaned its high-pitched greeting. With her cane, she found the doorjamb and stepped over it lightly. Inhaling deeply, the sweet smell of plants wafted over her.  _ They’re thriving. I would’ve thought they would’ve started to die by now. _ She hadn’t visited since the attack. Perhaps someone else had been watering and fertilizing them?  _ No, nobody cares enough about me or them to do that.  _ She was eternally the unwanted member of the coven, reluctantly plugged as its head in Fiona’s absence and blithely replaced when she returned. 

The plants jostled as if in the breeze, but in a pattern, in alignment with  _ footsteps.  _ Her heart skipped a beat.  _ Somebody is in here! _ The figure approached, darting through the leaves of the greenhouse.  _ Not again, not this time! _ Cordelia swung up her cane. “Get away from me!” She smacked the approaching person with her cane  _ hard. _

The person stumbled back. “Ow! Jesus Christ!” A plant tipped over, and she fell down backward, landing on her ass on the dirt floor with a gasp of surprise. 

Cordelia froze. “Misty?”  _ Great. First I was incompetent, and now I’m downright abusive.  _ “Oh my god, Misty, are you okay? I’m so sorry!”  _ What the hell was that? _ She dropped her cane and felt around before her in the new perpetual darkness. “Here, come here, are you okay? Are you bleeding?” 

“Yes, Miss Cordelia,” Misty grunted, struggling back to her feet. Her voice was thick with tears-- _ not tears, blood, _ Cordelia realized with horror. Cordelia took her by the elbows, trying to offer some support, but she wasn’t sure what kind. “Sorry,” she said. “I should’ve just said hullo… I was trying to get out before you noticed I was in here.” 

Sucking on her lower lip, Cordelia shook her head. “No, Misty,  _ I’m  _ sorry. I shouldn’t have greeted you like I was in a baseball tournament. I was just startled.”  _ I keep thinking they’re going to attack me again. _ She wasn’t sure why she thought that. Whoever they were, they had already blinded her. What else could they do? If they had wanted to kill her outright, they would’ve done it when they had the opportunity. 

Misty complimented, “You’ve got a good swing.” There was a muted smile in her voice. “I didn’t see it coming at all. Granted, I never thought you would try to beat me in the face in the first place, but--all things considered, you got a good arm.” She cleared her throat and spat. “What’re you doing, wandering around here at night, anyway?” 

It occurred to Cordelia these were the most words she and Misty had exchanged since Misty had arrived with Myrtle three days ago. She was avoiding meals, and Cordelia had scarcely encountered her at all, even in the building.  _ She revived all the flowers.  _ Misty’s breath was heavy, strange, uneven, and in the space, she stood awkwardly, as if in pain, hovering there.  _ As if in pain. She is in pain! I beat her in the face with my cane!  _ “I could ask you the same thing,” Cordelia said softly. Misty was silent, nothing but her little gasping breaths and trembling hands. Her reluctance to answer was palpable in the air. With her refusal, Cordelia cleared her throat. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d come outside and get some fresh air.” 

Misty puffed, suddenly deeper, and she blinked a few times. “Oh… right.” Her tone was so muted, so  _ exhausted,  _ Cordelia couldn’t fathom it. 

Cordelia held out her hand.  _ There’s something very wrong with her.  _ She hadn’t hit Misty hard enough to give her a concussion, had she?  _ No, I’m not that strong.  _ “Here, let’s--let’s go inside and get you cleaned up.”

Fidgeting backward, Misty tried to dodge her touch. “Don’t, Miss Cordelia, I’m all bluh-bloody.” Misty had not hesitated to touch her the first time, or anytime since, and the affirmation that she was indeed hiding something drove Cordelia further. Flinching, Misty closed both eyes and held perfectly still as Cordelia caressed her cheek, running her palm over a smear of blood. 

The vision crashed before her, Misty fighting sleep, drinking coffee, smelling flowers, pricking herself with thorns, slapping herself, shivering in the cold breeze, doing anything, everything, to keep from succumbing to her fatigue and collapsing. Fear coursed through her veins, fear driven from memories--sleeping peacefully in bed in her family’s home when they tore her from her bed and dragged her, kicking and screaming, across the harsh cement of their driveway and hurled her into the back of a pickup truck, scraped and bleeding and aching, hogtied and gagged and blindfolded. Then she was asleep at her cabin, on her mattress with her ratty blankets, and a gunman burst in and littered the shack with bullets. Her heart raced with pure terror, tormenting her through every minute of the day, and she couldn’t drop her shield to sleep again. 

Gingerly, Cordelia dropped her hand from Misty’s cheek and reached for her hand instead. “Misty,” she said quietly, gently, rolling her hand over to feel the pulse in her wrist, rapid and shallow. “How long has it been since you slept?”

Misty swallowed hard. “Since I got here,” she admitted. “Maddie gave me some pills that helped me stay awake. I been mixing them with coffee.”

Cordelia blinked a few times.  _ Another point for being an incompetent teacher--somehow, my witches are trading Adderall without me even knowing about it.  _ “That’s dangerous.” She kept her voice very soft. She didn’t want Misty to think she was being judged. “You could have a heart attack. You need to sleep. How many pills did you take?” 

“I… I don’t remember.” 

“For future reference--don’t take any medication Madison gives you. For one, it’s hardly ever legal or safe… but also, she’ll sneak you laxatives if she’s mad at you.” It was a late warning, but in Cordelia’s defense, she hadn’t thought that she had to warn Misty not to take illegal drugs. 

Licking her lips, Misty slowly nodded her head. “Oh, well--yeah, okay, that’s good to know. You learn that from experience?” 

Cordelia chuckled, a dampened thing. “Let’s say I didn’t.” She caressed Misty’s sticky, bloody hand. “Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up, and you can go to bed.” She went to pull on Misty’s hand, but Misty sank her heels in deep. “Misty,” Cordelia implored.

“I can’t.” She refused to budge, and her voice shook. “I can’t!” Cordelia would have had as much luck pushing on a solid wall, for Misty shook her head in obstinate opposition. “I  _ have to stay awake, _ ” she insisted, her voice curdling with fear. She took a step back, away from Cordelia. “I’m not safe if I’m asleep!” 

Recognition donned on Cordelia:  _ I’m not the only one afraid they’re going to come back.  _ Misty had been victimized in her sleep twice, first by fire and then by steel. She couldn’t let herself sleep. “Misty,” Cordelia tried to soothe, reaching for her, but Misty gasped for breath and snatched out of her reach, stumbling backward. Her exhaustion had left her limbs unable to hold her up any longer. A broken sob tore through her. “Misty, it’s okay--it’s  _ okay _ , I promise.” 

Curling up tight, drawing her knees to her chest, Misty quaked. Cordelia sank beside her, bumping her head on the table above, and reached to hug her.  _ She’s so cold.  _ She hadn’t slept in so long, her body had lost its ability to regulate its temperature. “Muh-My chest hurts,” Misty whispered between gasps. Cordelia took one shaking hand and pressed it there.  _ What can I do to help her?  _ She had never been good at helping her witches, but Misty needed her. After a moment of stiffening under the hug, Misty caved and clung to her in return. “I’m scared--” 

Cordelia tucked her hair behind her ear. She couldn’t tell which fluids were blood, snot, or tears as they all ran together. “Sweetheart.” She hoped that name was okay for Misty. “You’re going to be okay… We won’t let anything happen to you here.  _ I  _ won’t let anything happen to you here.” She caressed Misty’s face. Each touch made her flinch. “Slow down your breathing.” She pressed harder against Misty’s chest. Through her thin shirt, she could feel every heartbeat pounding, too hard and too fast. “You need to sleep.” Misty shook her head in resistance, refusing. “You can come with me. I’ll stay with you. If we’re together, no one will be able to hurt us.” Tearful, trembling fists balled up in Cordelia’s nightgown.  _ We’re both so dirty.  _ She doubted Misty could stand long enough to take a shower. How weird was it if she offered to share a bath with her?  _ Not even in the top ten weirdest things that have ever happened around here,  _ she decided. It wasn't like she could be more objectionable as a teacher, and Misty wasn't her student—she was a refugee. “Let’s go take a bath together. Do you want to do that? That will help you warm up some.” 

Misty shivered from head to toe, trembling like a dry autumn leaf in the breeze. "N-No—I  _ can't _ —" She desperately clawed at her own skin, hands curling inward into talons. "It  _ burns _ ," she gasped, scratching at her arms. Cordelia took her hands and held them so she couldn't harm herself. 

"Misty, it doesn't, it's just in your head."  _ But that doesn't make it less real, _ Cordelia knew. Her nightmares also followed her into her life, and she couldn't fault Misty for falling backward when she was most vulnerable. "Come with me—C'mon, stand up." She tugged on Misty's arm, refusing to relent until the other woman started to rise up with her. Long arms caught around her neck. Her legs threatened to cave underneath her. "Sh…" It felt so good to be needed… to be good at something, to be helpful. She didn't get that feeling very often. Misty buried her face into the crook of her neck and sobbed a soft, broken sob, until even that subsided. She was too exhausted to cry. "Come inside," Cordelia whispered, and this time, Misty bobbed her head in some reluctant agreement. Her fear, her sadness, her fatigue had all crippled her. Cordelia wasn't the only one broken by trauma. 

Misty hitched a tight breath. "Miss Cordelia…" Her voice quaked. 

"It's okay, Misty," Cordelia soothed, feeling more useful than she had in weeks. "I've got you." She reached up to caress Misty's cheek. 

Under her palm, she felt Misty's mouth curl, something that wanted to be a smile but didn't have the energy to become so. "I know." That was enough. 


End file.
